


Out of the Wilderness

by vasaris



Series: Whose Walls Already Rise [1]
Category: Highlander: The Series, The Epic of Gilgamesh
Genre: Discussion of non-con, F/M, GFY, M/M, Multi, No Beta, Rough Trade April 2015, don't expect historical accuracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 14:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6427405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vasaris/pseuds/vasaris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A retelling of the Epic of Gilgamesh with a few new elements and a few new people.  Epic, meet Highlander; Highlander, meet Gilgamesh.</p>
<p>A hunter returns to camp, finding the unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tablet 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the April 2015 Historical Rough Trade Challenge under the title: Whose Walls Already Rise
> 
> I tried to keep the language evocative of the way the epic is written. Someday I'll get around to adding the quotes back in.
> 
> Art by the lovely Marlislash Gabs.

Whose Walls Already Rise: Out of the Wilderness

The sun westered low across the scrubland, painting the waving grass and grazing herds with red-gold light.  In the distance, the wild dogs howled their content with the kill, the strange harmonies of their song alien and joyful.  Footsteps traced a well-worn and familiar path around a low rise, toward a small copse of fragrant trees.  A stream sparked fire in the ruddy light, wending down toward the wide watering hole shared by predator and prey alike, brim-full with the spring rains that had thundered across the hilltops days before.  Beside it, a well-worn tent of leather and braided sinew stood welcoming, a fire burning low in the stone-lined pit and the scent of rabbits roasting, succulent with herbs filling the air.

Surprised and hunt-weary, the walker stopped, considering the sight before him.  A girl, willow thin and graceful as windblown grass knelt beside the fire, tending the roasting meat.  Wrapped in a brightly dyed shawl, she was no one he knew.  She had not come from the small settlement some days south, where they baked clay into bricks with which to build their homes.  Nor had he ever seen her in the hunter’s camp to the west, tending the children amidst the tents.

There was no reason for her to be in his lonely camp, preparing food she must have brought with her.

He resumed his journey, setting his catch aside as he approached the stream, preparing to wash the filth of hunting from his skin.  He could feel her eyes upon him as he stripped away his leathers and stood beside the sun-warmed water where it pooled behind his camp, clean and clear.  He scrubbed himself down with handfuls of clean sand, sluicing himself clean of days of travel.

“You are not at all what I expected,” said the girl in a low, sweet alto, pale eyes hot upon his body.

“Oh?” His brows rose in question.  “I can’t say that you’re what I expected either.  I don’t believe you were here when I left on my rounds.  Your presence is rather a mystery to me.”

She smiled, sweet and secret.

“I come as a gift to you, from the hunters of the plains.”

The man frowned at her.

“As a gift?  By what possible right can they give you to me?  You are a woman and belong to yourself and none other.”

“It was a royal request, and I find that I am not unwilling,” said she, removing the rabbit from the flames and a small clay pot from the ashes of the fire.  “Come, they said to me, there is one who came down from the mountains, who is powerful and strong.  He is wild and unwise in the ways of the people of the fertile river valleys and hunts alone near the watering hole.  Come and show him the gifts of our ways.”

The food she placed on baked discs of heavy clay, meat and baked vegetables, and some of the flat bread he had tried in the settlement to the south.  The scent of the food was rich with unfamiliar herbs.

“So they sent you to teach me?  How kind.”  He wrapped himself in a simple leather kilt, taking a space beside the fire.

“They hope that you will be willing to learn of our ways,” she held a cup of fired clay and filled it from a swollen waterskin decorated with symbols he had never before seen.  The liquid was red, like the juice of various fruits. “That you may be willing to join us instead of living alone here in the wilds.”

He took the food she gave him and the cup, sniffing cautiously.  It smelled odd, like vine-fruit left too long, yet it seemed not unwholesome.

“These things,” she said, “are but the smallest part of what we can offer you.”

He took a sip of the not-juice, the flavor of it bursting upon his tongue.  It was strange, but not unpleasant, and the flavor complemented the scent of the food.  He lifted a piece of the rabbit to his tongue, chewing thoughtfully, letting flavor and scent mix, and found that it was good.  The herbs were different – not entirely unfamiliar, but not local.  He remembered some of the flavors from times when he had lived elsewhere, long ago when the walls of ice had seemed close enough to touch.

“These are good,” he allowed, savoring the food and the drink. “And I am glad of the meal, but I did not invite you.  Is it common for you to invade other people’s homes without asking?”

The woman looked startled for a moment, before shaking her head.

“Ah, no.” In the firelight he could see a blush rise upon her cheeks.  “It was wrong of me, but I hoped you would find it a pleasant surprise to find food and a woman waiting for you.”

“A surprise, certainly.” He eyed her, noting the smoothness of her skin and hands, the beauty of her face and form.  “I have not had a woman waiting by my fire for a long time.”

Her hands lifted to the brightly-dyed shawl that wrapped around her body, unfurling it slowly as she stood.

“Do I please you?” The fabric laid upon the ground in a soft pile as the woman drew her hands down her body, emphasizing the curve of her hips and the fullness of her breasts.  Firelight glinted off of small, golden rings that adorned her nipples and her musk scented the air.

“You are very beautiful.”

“I am Shamhat of the Temple,” she said, laying down before him, thighs spread wide.  Her long, clever fingers parted the lips of her cunt in unabashed offering.

“Shamhat,” he knelt down beside her, running a testing finger through her wetness.  An odd tingle went up his arm, echoing oddly in his mind as he touched her, tracing circles around her clit, something he hadn’t felt in years upon years.  “Among my people a woman who wanted sex merely needed to ask.”

 “It is my pleasure to offer it to you,” she murmured, arching into his touch.  A low, pleased sigh escaped as he slipped a finger into her wet heat, curling it up to rub lightly.  His other hand cupped a breast, plucking lightly at the gold-adorned nipple.

“What is it you would have of me?”

Shamhat’s hand ran up under the kilted leather he wore, gripping his cock with clear intent and he laughed.

“Oh, that you will have,” he said.  “But first, it’s only polite to see to your woman’s pleasure.”

 

The first night set the tone for several days – a glut of stories and sex.  Shamhat’s musk became as familiar to him as his own.

“What should I call you?” she asked on the third day, as they rested in the shade of the trees beside the camp.  “You’ve never told me your name.”

“Call me what you wish.” He shrugged.  “I’ve had many names.  I don’t remember the one that my mother gave me.”

She stared up at him, tracing a finger through the hair on his chest.

“Then I shall call you Enkidu – for you must be a creation of the god.”

“A creation of the god?” Enkidu laughed.  “I am just a man, Shamhat.”

“You are no mere man,” her finger strayed to a sensitive nipple, playing idly.  “You have the same presence as the great ones, when they come to the Temple – you have power more palpable than that of our King, great Gilgamesh, yet you are kinder than he, and more mindful.”

Enkidu rose up on an elbow and looked down upon her, graceful Shamhat of the Temple, and he could see that she believed those words, and he wondered at them.  He pressed his lips to her jeweled breast, tugging lightly upon the golden ring with his tongue, a distraction of fleshly pleasure.  She pulled him down upon her, wet and eager as they rutted beneath the fragrant trees.

 

“Tell me of this man – this Gilgamesh,” Enkidu sat near the fire, watching the light play upon Shamhat’s skin.  She glanced up, hands stilling for a moment as she prepared the evening meal.

“He is the King of Uruk, the great city, whose walls rise tall above the valley floor.”  She returned to her work.  “Like you, he is tall and fair of skin – akin to the Gods, it is said, since fair Ninsun is his mother.  His eyes are like the storm clouds and his voice music in the thunder.  His presence prickles like the air before lightning.  His beauty is that of the tempest.  His attention is that of the lightning – it strikes and then moves on.”

“An interesting man indeed,” said Enkidu.  “What is a king?”

Shamhat laughed, radiant with mirth.  “What is a king?”

“My people never had such a thing,” said Enkidu.  “You speak of him as though he is a leader, yet it does not seem that he is one of the elders of your people, with the great wisdom of his age.”

Shamhat handed him a fired-clay bowl filled with richly scented stew, sitting down beside him with her own.

“Our king leads by divine right, granted to him by the gods and by his blood – he is the child of the goddess Ninsun and the king-who-came-before.  In the city there are many, Enkidu.  It is not like the hunter’s camp or the farming village to the south.  Imagine a place where tens of tens of tens of families live.  We have many elders among us, but only one King.”

Enkidu took a spoonful of stew as he listened, chewing thoughtfully.

“I cannot quite imagine tens of tens of tens of families, nor the great walls of fired clay that you have spoken of.  It seems strange to me that there could even be so many people, much less in one place.”

“You could come to the city,” said Shamhat.  “You would be welcomed there, with your great strength and your presence.  You are like unto the great ones, when they come unto the Temple.”

“And the hunters that sent you would be happy because I would not be here.” Enkidu raised a brow as Shamhat blushed.  “I have cared for this land for many years, Shamhat – the hunters take too much prey, it disturbs the balance of the world.  So I fill their pits and trip their snares.  There are too many of them in one place, they need to range farther or do as the people of the hills do and gather and breed the herds, so that the balance is not so disturbed.”

“Then they must be told,” said Shamhat.  “They will listen to the words of the King, if he decrees it.  Come to the city, and you may meet with him and tell him thus.”

“But will your King listen to my words?” Enkidu stared into the flames, setting aside his empty bowl.  “I do not wish to leave this place, yet I can see wisdom in it.  The world has changed much since I came down from the mountains.  If I cannot imagine tens of tens of tens of families, what else is there that I cannot conceive of?”

“He is of the thunderstorm and you are of the river, Enkidu.” Shamhat set her bowl aside, rising to straddle his lap.  “He brings the thunder and the rain, but you will bring the fertile earth and the water to irrigate the fields.”

“I am not a god, Shamhat.  I’m just a man.”

Shamhat placed her lips upon his brow, in a strange benediction.  She pressed her lips to his, something she had never done before.  Enkidu inhaled sharply in surprise and her tongue pressed between his lips, bringing pleasure with it.  Her hands cupped his cheeks, tilting his head as she wanted it as she kissed him, her hips undulating against his like the far-distant sea.

“You are more than just a man,” Shamhat whispered fiercely against his mouth.  “I am of the Temple and I _know_ men.  You are more than they and greater than any I have met except the great ones and perhaps the man who is my Lord and King.  Come with me to Uruk, Enkidu.  I will clothe you in the finest linens and the King will listen to your words.  You will contain his lightning and corral his rains.  You will bring us the fertile mud and the clean river-water for our fields.  Come with me.  I beg you.”

“You need not beg me, Shamhat of the Temple,” said Enkidu, tracing kisses along her jaw and to her throat.  “I will come with you and leave this place to the hunters.  I will come to Uruk and speak to your king, though I do not know that he will listen.”

Her hands lifted the plain leather wrap he wore kilted at his waist, grasping his cock with clear intent.  Enkidu leaned back, laying himself down in brazen invitation.

“Do I please you, graceful Shamhat?” he murmured, tugging lightly at her brightly colored shawl.  Shamhat laughed, untying the leather and leaving him bare and erect in the cool night.

“You _are_ very beautiful,” she said, leaning down to lick a broad stripe up his cock.  “It seems only fair to see to your man’s pleasure before asking that you see to my own.”

 

It took a few days to prepare for the journey, although their first stop would be the hunting camp that was so close by.  Each time Shamhat touched him, it was with thick, fierce emotion – something unexpected in the temple priestess who had come to him with the offer of sex and story.  He did not think that she had meant to care for him.  Yet she did, it was in every movement and every touch.

“What will you do when we reach your city, Shamhat of the Temple?”

They had almost reached the hunting camp when he asked.

“I will return to my duties,” she said.  “And you will go to the King.”

“In a place of tens of tens of tens of families, will I see you again?”

“You need only come to the Temple and request me.”

Enkidu frowned slightly.  “You are my friend, Shamhat.  It would sadden me if we never were to rut again, but I would like to see you for more than just that.”

Shamhat stopped and gave him a hard stare.  “It is my duty to the Temple –”

“I would never interfere with what you do, for your temple or for yourself.” He sighed.  “It is your business and that of your goddess.  I will be in a strange place, with many strange people, and you are my friend and companion.  I would like to be able to visit you because I care for you and you are my guide in all of this.”

Her expression softened.

“I am sorry, Enkidu.  It has been very different, this experience with you,” she smiled.  “You are my friend and I will be happy to see you.  If you come to the temple or send word, I will always be happy to meet with you.  As I said, you are not like other men, who would try to claim me as a possession.”

“I told you, you belong to yourself.”

“Ishtar might argue that,” said Shamhat. “But she is rarely at the temple.  The great ones live elsewhere and visit only when it suits them.”

“Hmmmm.”  Enkidu shook his head as they entered the hunting camp.  The eyes of the men rested hotly upon Shamhat’s graceful form, and she moved with an easy, sensual stride.  One or two stared at him, lust-anger fresh on their faces and Enkidu stared back at them with indifferent eyes.  Shamhat was not his to give or take away, and the jealousy was unexpected and unwelcome.

“Is it always like this?” asked Enkidu.

“They envy you that you have had me,” she said.  “They have never been to the Temple and have not the coin to request a senior priestess even if they did.  I was brought here for you, Enkidu-of-the-mountain, and they wish that I had been obliged to spread myself open for them.”

“You weren’t obliged to spread yourself open for me,” said Enkidu.  “Although that was oddly appealing.”

She laughed softly.  “Oh, they told me to do that, as though I have no idea how to entice a man.  I did it because you were not what I expected at all.  You were supposed to be wild and uncontrolled and either stare at me without a clue or throw me to the ground and fuck me before I could speak.  Instead you went and cleansed yourself and made conversation.”

“So I earned my invitation to rut on you?”

“You did, much to my pleasure.” Her lips curved in a wicked smile.  “I was asked to use my skills to bring you out of the wilderness, but I wasn’t required to fuck you, no matter what they think.”

“Mostly it was the food,” said Enkidu seriously.  “And possibly the wine.  It’s not like you married me and brought me out of the wilderness for the love of your admittedly lovely and delicious cunt.”

Shamhat glowered at him, lips twitching.

“It is lovely, all pink and moist and fun to play with, but it’s your toy to share as you wish.”

Her expression broke and Shamhat began laughing.  “You are like none other, Enkidu.”

“Just a man,” he told her.  “I’m just a man.”


	2. Tablet 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world beyond the mountain is not quite what Enkidu expects.

Shamhat led Enkidu to the center of the hunter’s camp, where the business of living was conducted.  Three men sat upon rough-hewn benches, discussing the day’s hunts and the needs of the clan.  Enkidu stood at the edge of the circle, listening curiously as they spoke.  The eldest seemed to be the leader of this small council, while the younger two seemed to represent the hunters and the craftsmen of the tribe.  The need was great, it seemed, for flesh and hides – the marketplace of the great City had a great demand for their leather and cured meats.  Had they enough, they might gain coin for such necessities as ground grain and rough-spun cloth.

Enkidu frowned in sudden comprehension.  They hunted more than they required so they might trade for other things their people needed.  Yet it was foolish, for they had begun to cull the wild herds too far, and it would not be long before the balance would be ruined.  He could feel Shamhat’s gaze upon him and when he turned, he could see her smile at his understanding.

“Esteemed Elders,” said Shamhat, drawing the words out in honeyed tones, “I have brought you Enkidu-of-the-mountain, as you requested.”

The men looked up, weary-faced and worn with anger.

“You!” exclaimed the craftsman, hand touching a knife of wrought-metal. “You are the one who keeps our hunters from their appointed tasks.

“Peace Enusat,” rebuked the eldest, hale and strong in his great age.  “We encroached upon the lands protected by the man-of-the-mountain and knew that we had done so.”

The third man spat upon the ground, rage-lust burning hot upon his brow.

“The great herds of the plain congregate there, at the great watering hole, their numbers undiminished.  What cares the man-of-the-mountain for our culling?”  Of the three, he was the youngest and filled with spite.

“You cull too far and too fast,” said Enkidu.  “I have watched the land for many years.  The game is plentiful if one has a care for the future.  You have taken too much, too soon, and your own range has grown empty.  I saw no need for it to happen in mine.”

“How dare you judge what you do not know!” shouted the youngest of the three.  “You have no woman, no child to feed!”

“I would not see your children starve when you have taken all of the game, or see the lion hunt you to feed his own cubs.” Enkidu stared him down like he would a rebellious youth.  “You disturb the balance that the Mother gave us without care.”

“Balathu,” said the eldest, wisdom heavy upon his brow. “He is right.  Our range has grown empty, for we have taken too much.”

“He does not need what he holds, Libluth.  The men-of-the-mountain have ever been alone, since the first came down from the slopes.  This one is no different than the others.  He has no need of rich herds, nor the plentiful water of the stream’s edge.”

“You are envious,” Enkidu observed.  “I have cared for the land and its beasts and it has bounty.”

Balathu flushed, rage-hot.  “We have cared for our people!”

“Others have gathered herds and cared for them that they not over-hunt.  Why have you not?”

“Our range is not so bountiful as yours, nor does it have as much water.” Libluth held up a hand. “Predators stalk the plains, searching to feed their cubs.  We dare not breed herds while the lions rule and the wild dogs scavenge.”

Enkidu considered the Elder’s words.

“If I were to hunt your lions and drive off the wild dogs, would you be willing to breed your herds and live in balance with the beasts of the plains?”

“You cannot defeat the lions that stalk our range,” challenged Balathu.  “They are swift as the storm-wind and as cruel as the desert sun.”

“What would you stake on that?” asked Shamhat.

Balathu sneered.

“If he can defeat the lions, we will weigh him down with the wealth of our clan and send him to Uruk-of-the-sheepfold, whose walls rise high above the valley floor.” Balathu stood, stiff-limbed and filled with venom.  “If he fails, you will raise a tent to your goddess here and offer pleasure to any who ask.”

“No,” said Enkidu at the moment Shamhat of the Temple said, “Yes.”

Pale-eyed Shamhat smiled, swift and secret.

“Your challenge is accepted, Balathu of the plains,” said Shamhat, drawing a hand down graceful curves. “You should begin gathering your wealth, for Enkidu is like unto the great ones when they come unto the Temple.  His presence is like the river’s current, and his power unparalleled but for that of he who is our King and Lord.”

“I do not wish to be the subject of such a wager.” Enkidu frowned at them both, watching Balathu stare hot-eyed at Shamhat’s unblemished flesh.

“Let it be done,” said Libluth.  “If you free our range of the starving lion and the threat of the wild dog, we will breed herds and live in balance with the wild beasts.  If you succeed, we will give you great gifts and send you to Uruk-of-the-sheepfold, whose walls rise high above the valley floor.”

“Shamhat,” said Enkidu.

“You will not fail,” said Shamhat, gleaming eyes set upon Balathu.  “But I find that I am not unwilling to raise a tent in the honor of Ishtar and provide pleasure to any who ask.  For now, however, we must have a place to pitch your tent.”

“Of course,” said Libluth.  “I will guide you.”

 

The hunter’s camp was ordered chaos.  On one side women toiled, curing skins and meat for clan and city.  Others worked preparing food and repairing equipment.  Children ran to and fro, playing in the well-worn tracks between tents, as their minders eyed the newcomers warily.  Shamhat’s smooth and easy grace, filled with carnal promise, drew every eye.

“Priestess,” soft-spoken Libluth said as he showed them a place for Enkidu to raise his tent, “it will be some days before Enkidu-of-the-mountain will be able to pursue the great predators of our range.  There are many here who would pay homage to Ishtar at your altar.  Many are the boys who have taken the mark of manhood, but have not yet brought a woman to their tents.”

Enkidu saw Shamhat-of-the-Temple consider those words.

“Raise a tent to Ishtar the Beautiful, and fill it with those things needed for worship, the bed and the altar and the offering cup, and I will minister to your needs while Enkidu-of-the-mountain hunts.  Let all come to me that bear on offering or wish to learn the goddess’ ways.”

“It will be done, priestess,” said Libluth, backing away.

“It is good that they wish to honor the goddess,” Shamhat’s voice carried sweetly in the midday heat.  “She does not take kindly to dishonor or disrespect.”

Enkidu did not have to look to know that the eyes of woman and man alike dropped to the ground in shame for their envy.  Enkidu raised his tent and placed what belongings they had brought inside.

“You should explore the camp,” said Shamhat as she entered the tent, small pack in hand.

“I mean to speak to the hunters and learn where my hunt should begin.”  Enkidu set out his bedroll as Shamhat took a seat upon the ground, taking out a round of polished metal.  She glanced at him with a wicked smile before laying out a small palette filled with colors.

“I mean to teach Balathu what it means to be of the Temple.”  Deft-handed, she applied kohl to her eyes, causing their glittering depths to shine with the goddess’ light.  Carnelian graced her lips with its ruby hues, echoing the truth of their kiss-swollen beauty.  “I will show him my beauty and take his wind.  He will lie helpless before me and understand what a woman is.”

“Ah,” said Enkidu.  “And where am I to sleep, if you have filled my bed with the esteemed elder?”

“I will return your bed to you when it is time.”

The curve of her lips was sharp enough to cut.  Having no desire to bleed, Enkidu left her to her devices.

 

The hunters themselves honed their skill in a small range, where they could practice their archery and skill with the thrown spear. 

Enkidu stood and watched for a time, admiring the bows and marveling at the tips of bright metal.  A pale-eyed youth, new-come into manhood, waved to him from across the field.

“Stranger!” called he called, eyes shining with happy challenge.  “I am called Nutesh.  Balathu, our chief, has said that you will try and hunt the great lions in our range, so it will be safe for us to raise herds and live in balance with the wild beasts.”

“It is so,” said Enkidu, smiling at the youth’s exuberance.  “Shamhat of the Temple calls me Enkidu-of-the-mountain.”

“Would you care for a contest?” asked Nutesh.  “You are the man-of-the-mountain, and it is said that your skills are without parallel.”

“I am just a man,” said Enkidu, “but it has been many years since I measured myself against others.  I would be pleased to join you in competition.”

So he spent the afternoon, becoming familiar with the weapons of the hunters and demonstrating his own skill.  None could equal his accuracy with bow or his strength with a spear.  Laughingly they declared a completion of wrestling – a sport with which Enkidu was unfamiliar, and thus unskilled despite his wiry strength.  Many of the women walked by, smiling behind their hands as the men grappled one-another beneath the slowly westering sun.  As the sun sank to its fiery rest, Enkidu found himself pinned less often by his opponents and laughed when he trapped Nutesh beneath himself.

“Do I meet your expectations?” he asked as the youth relaxed beneath him, smiling up with wicked eyes.

“You do,” he said, hips abruptly rising up to grind unrepentantly against him. “And I yield. It has been most enlightening.”

Enkidu startled, pulling back slightly from his prey.  “Nutesh.”

“I would lie with you, Enkidu-of-the-mountain.”  Hot eyes traced over his form.  “I have not yet found a woman I wish for my tent.”

“I am not a woman,” said Enkidu slowly.  “Nor have I ever lain with a man.”

“No,” said Nutesh lazily, hips rolling against him.  “You’re definitely not a woman.”

“Is this common among your people?” He felt himself harden as he scented the youth’s arousal and felt the burning length of the boy’s cock against his.

“Until I take a woman to my tent, I may not partake of a woman’s pleasures, unless I go to the Temple,” said Nutesh.  “So it is for all who have not taken a girl into their tent and made her into a woman.  But there are no strictures about the pleasures I may take with men.”

“I see,” said Enkidu, lifting himself up and staring down at the youth.  Nutesh was lovely, all lean lines and a wicked tongue that had teased and taunted as they strove against one another.  The others had already left the training field and but a few of the spectators remained.  Nutesh ran his hands up Enkidu’s chest, hesitating suddenly.

“If you do not wish to –”

“I find that I am not unwilling,” said Enkidu, leaning down to take the boy’s mouth and still his clever tongue. He tasted of sweat and onion and faint sweetness that Enkidu wanted to devour whole. He felt Nutesh’s lips curve in a smile before the boy twisted, boneless as a snake, and rolled them over to lie atop Enkidu.

“Then let me show you, Enkidu-of-the-mountain, what pleasures men may find together.”  A hot and callused hand freed Enkidu’s cock from its covering, jerking him roughly to full hardness. Not to be outdone by a mere youth, Enkidu slipped a hand into Nutesh’s breechclout, releasing the boy’s leaking prick and rubbing the pre-come into the sensitive head.

The youth groaned into Enkidu’s skin.  “I want to take you into my mouth and suckle you, Enkidu-of-the-mountain.  I want to drink your waters and wear your sweat on my skin.”

Enkidu lifted his hand and licked at Nutesh’s juices, finding them not unpleasant.  He rolled to his side and shifted, presenting the thickness of his cock to Nutesh’s eager mouth even as he sought the youth’s prick with his own.

“Teach me, Nutesh-of-the-plains,” said Enkidu, “and I will show you what I have learned.”

Slick heat enveloped him, and Enkidu lowered his mouth, peeling back the foreskin of the boy’s cock with lips and tongue.  He suckled and nipped, licked and swallowed, coaxing the youth’s seed even as Nutesh’s throat spasmed around him.  Enkidu’s pleasure crested like the overflowing stream as the boy spilled into his mouth.

Enkidu swallowed the youth’s fertile waters and found them good.

Nutesh pulled away, sweat-damp and smiling.  “You said you had never lain with a man.”

“Nor have I finished doing so now,” said Enkidu, sitting up and drawing the youth to him.  The boy’s lips were red and cock-swollen, begging to be kissed.  He laid his mouth upon Nutesh’s, fucking him open with his tongue, demanding submission.  Nutesh moaned into his mouth, resisting only briefly before yielding to the onslaught.  “I think, however, that I would like to play.”

“How quickly you learn,” said Nutesh.  “I have yielded to you for the night, you can do as you wish so long as it does not cause harm.”

Enkidu laughed softly.

“We will partake of the evening meal,” he said, laying his hand upon the youth’s cock, stroking gently before re-tying the breechclout over the boy’s hardness.  “You will tell me of your people’s ways.  You will tell me of where you hunt and where the dangers are.”

“Enkidu.” Nutesh’s hand went to his cock and Enkidu grabbed it and pulled it away.

“You have yielded,” he said, nipping lightly at Nutesh’s lips.  “That is mine to play with as I will.”

Nutesh growled lightly.

“We will eat, we will talk,” Enkidu pressed his mouth to Nutesh’s ear, “and then we will fuck until you cannot crest again.  You will show me everything that you know and I will show you how it should be done.  You will not spill your fertile waters on uncaring stone.  You will stripe my flesh and yours with them, and we will reek of the sex-joy, in honor of Ishtar the Beautiful.”

 

It was long after the mid-of-night when Enkidu left Nutesh’s tent.  The youth lay sleeping, insensate with pleasure, and Enkidu reeked of the sex-joy as he strolled, loose-limbed with sensual potency.  The full-bellied moon shone bright above the encampment, and the stars glittered brightly beyond, like scattered shards of ice in the sun.

He entered his tent to find Balathu curled semi-conscious beside Shamhat of the Temple.  Shamhat lay supine upon the leathers of his bedroll, fingers trailing between her wet, seed-stained folds in idle pleasure.

“Enkidu,” her gaze fixed upon him with leonine intensity.  “Come to me.”

Balathu growled, low in his throat, coming more fully awake.

“Be silent,” said Shamhat.  “And learn.  Enkidu-of-the-mountain knows what a woman is and knows that he is powerless before her.”

“Among my people, a woman need only ask for her pleasure,” said Enkidu, kneeling between Shamhat’s legs.  “To make her cry out is a gift to the goddess.”

“I accept your desire to make offering to Ishtar,” said Shamhat as Enkidu spread her thighs wider, licking a stripe from her hole to her clit, swirling his tongue in the way that made her squirm and whimper.  Her hands gripped his hair as his mouth played amidst her folds, cleaning her of Balathu’s seed.  His fingers fucked into her clenching wetness and she crested like a flooding river, her cries sweet in the night-air.

Enkidu rested his head upon her thigh and looked up through his lashes at Balathu’s face.  The rage-lust sat uncertainly upon his brow as Enkidu’s clever fingers coaxed another surge of pleasure from the priestess.

“It is not enough,” murmured Enkidu, “to fuck a woman open and lay your seed within her furrow.  That is the puerile strength of any male who comes upon her.  But to gain her desire that you spread her open and make her pleasure – that is a gift beyond price, and an honorable offering to Ishtar and to the mother of us all.”

He laid his mouth upon Shamhat again as Balathu watched, knowing what a woman was and helpless against her.

 

Over the next days Enkidu worked with the hunters of the settlement, learning the places where the lions prowled and where the wild dogs roamed in greatest numbers.  It did not please him to hunt other predators, for they were integral to the natural balance.  Yet the plains would not sustain humans and lions both, and the wild dogs might be tamed to the use of men.

Shamhat took her place in the tent they raised to Ishtar, preparing an altar and bed, performing the rites of the goddess and taking the offerings of many youths who had not yet found a woman for their tents.  Many nights she took Balathu to her ritual bed, accepting his offerings with full-throated cries that many of women envied.

Enkidu observed the rituals Shamhat of the Temple offered up each morning, and saw her offer pleasure to those who brought offerings to Ishtar.  He saw boys enter the tent with its ritual bed and men come out, reeking of the sex-joy.  Girls who had not yet been taken into a man’s tent began bringing offerings as well, leaving Shamhat’s tent loose-limbed and heavy lidded, hips swaying with sensual potency.

He learned that they counted their days here, grouping them up in order to keep track of time and ensure that they knew when their hunters were due to leave and return.  One day for each of the great ones, the gods that ruled above the authority of Uruk-of-the-sheepfold.  Seven days then, for each turn of the week.  Shamhat told him that four sevens would be the turn of a month, and there would be festival and feasting each month-end.

“Is this how it is in Uruk-of-the-sheepfold?”

“This and far more,” said Shamhat, unblemished skin glowing against the leathers of his bedroll.  He fucked her slowly, giving instead of taking as she came slowly apart under his hands.  “I will miss this, when we return.”

He took her mouth with his, kissing slow and languorous as he spilled within her.

“Is it this you will miss, or the camp?” he asked, resting his forehead against hers, breath and heart slowing.

“As if I could miss you,” she said, replete with sex-joy.  “I need only send a runner to you and you would come and do whatever I ask.”

“Then it is this place.”

“Yes.” She arched, stretching like one of the lionesses he was set to hunt on the morrow.  “I have always served at the Temple in Uruk.  I did not know that it could be so joyful to serve in such a small place.  Yet teaching to give pleasure, it has been a delight I did not know.  Before I did not see the results.  Here I can pass through the encampment and hear rapturous cries in service to the goddess, see the faces of the girls when they enter the tents of men knowing their power and receiving their joy.”

“Can you not remain here?”

She shook her head.  “I have my duty to the temple and serve at their whim.  I will ask if I may raise a temple here, but I do not think that I will be allowed to do so.”

He pressed his mouth to her cheek and to her shoulder.

“Sleep now, Shamhat,” he said, laying back and pulling her in to rest her head upon his shoulder.  “There is time enough right now.  It will be some days as I complete my hunts and rid this land of dangerous beasts.  Time enough to enjoy what you have.”

She laughed into his skin.  “Time enough for you fuck that boy of yours across the savannah.”

“Perhaps,” he said, running tickling fingers lightly along her ribs.  “Let us sleep.”


	3. Tablet 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people are born heroes, some people become heroes through circumstance.
> 
> Enkidu stumbles over it at the bottom of a cliff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discussion of nonconsensual activities that are canonical to the Epic of Gilgamesh. Gilgamesh is an asshole, in case anyone was wondering.

Enkidu set out with Nutesh and his hunters, tracking the great cats that prowled the plains and would take whatever meat they could find, beast or human.  At his back he carried metal-tipped spears and arrows, and in his hand he held a new bow, crafted to his strength by Nutesh’s mother, the terrifying Zakiti.

“One day,” said Enkidu, “Someone will explain how it is that men sit all the councils while women do all of the work.”

This night they camped near a small watering hole, where the gazelle gathered nervously, keeping an ever-shifting eye upon them.

“Oh, the women have a council,” said dark-eyed Kuri, one of the hunters.  “They simply don’t hold it in the middle of camp, where all can see and admire their work.”

Ubarr tossed a clod of grass at him, laughing.  “The council of Elders merely wishes to be available to all, Kuri.”

“Ah,” said Kuri, shaking his head.  “I have many sisters and many aunts – I know better.  The women govern all-that-is, while the men bluster about all-that-should-be.  They have long said that we should hunt the lion and tame the dog, so that we might herd in safety.”

Nutesh nodded his agreement.

“You did not meet with the whole of the council,” Nutesh told him.  “It is comprised of the heads of all the trades and crafts we have – Enusat is chief of our leatherworkers, but Arahunaa leads the foodmakers and the fiberspinners.  My mother leads those who make and repair equipment and Erishti is the eldest of us all, guiding and guarding those who care for the children.”

“Ah,” said Enkidu.  “Not so very different then.”

“Do your people do it differently?” asked Ubarr, curiosity lighting his broken-nosed face.

Enkidu hesitated, heart-struck.  “My clan has been gone for many years.  A sickness struck down many, leaving me on my own.”

The three young men shuddered as one, each holding a hand to his heart.

“I am sorry if my question brings you pain,” said Ubarr.  “I meant no harm.”

 “It is no harm to recall them, fleet-footed Ubarr of the plains.  It is just that I have been long away from people and did not expect the question.” Enkidu smiled, grief-pain flowing bittersweet. “We did do things differently in my clan, and amid those clans we knew.  But it was long ago.

“Our women we cherished for their strength and their wisdom and for the miracle of their bodies that they could bear children.  Men did not ask women to share their tents.  Women asked us to share their fires, to bring them pleasure, or plant our seed deep in their furrows.  We could say yes, or we could say no, but they chose to share with us, we did not try to own them.  Our Elders were chosen from the wisest of our old ones, usually the ones who taught various of the crafts.”

They stared at him, eyes wide and wondering.

“You didn’t claim women to ensure their children were yours?” Nutesh’s voice was high and disbelieving.

“No, each child belonged to its mother, and then to the clan as a whole.”

“That seems very strange,” observed Kuri. “How did you keep track of siblings?”

Enkidu rolled his eyes.  “The same way you do, if they have a mother or potential father in common.  It’s not as though a girl had no idea who her brothers were.  No more than you cannot identify your sisters.”

Kuri flushed.

“I think it sounds like a good way,” said Ubarr.  “I have been to the village to the south, and their ways are different still than ours.  Their women rarely speak and men choose for them what they should choose themselves.”

Nutesh tilted his head to the side, narrow eyed and thoughtful.

“It is stranger still in the city, where the King or many of his advisors may simply call for a girl and she must go, no matter her wishes or those of her kin.”

Enkidu frowned at him.

“What is this?”

“When we last sent trade to the City, I went as a guard against those who would steal our goods and harm our people.  While we were there, we saw a marriage processional.  A bride, in bright linen and wide belt walked up to the marriage-place in vivid joy.  There she and the groom made their vows before Ishtar the Beautiful.  It was then the King, Gilgamesh the builder, Gilgamesh the storm-eyed, came forward from the consummation place.  He took the girl’s hand, despite her protests and that of her husband.  He said that it was his duty and his pleasure to bring each girl into her womanhood and it was their duty to allow it.

“He took her to the consummation place, her husband trailing behind them.  He took her to the consummation place and bared her skin to the sun, laying her upon Ishtar’s sacred altar.  He took her to the consummation place and touched her and suckled at her breasts until she cried out to the goddess.  He spread her wide, and ploughed her deep, sowing his seed with her virgin’s blood.”

“He does this often?” asked Kuri.  “One of my sisters wishes to marry a merchant there.  I would not have her taken by a greedy king who will not honor her husband’s will.”

“So it is said.” Nutesh knelt closer to the fire, rubbing his arms as though overcome by a sudden chill.  “It is said that some of his nobles will claim girls on the street, straight from the arms of their families.  I have heard that some are given to the Temple to house when the noble is done.  Some become concubines.  Others are never seen again, no matter how their families beg.”

Enkidu stared at them both, hard as stone.  “I would not have _any woman_ taken by a man who would so dishonor _her_ will.  When we are done with this hunt, we will go to Uruk of the sheepfold, whose walls rise high above the valley floor, and we will put a stop to this vile wickedness.  Why do your gods do nothing about it?

“The great ones do not visit often,” said Ubarr.  “I do not know that any speak to them of such things.”

“They do,” said Nutesh.  “The people of the city have cried out against it, but the King, the great builder, Gilgamesh the storm-eyed claims it is his right and his duty as God-King to bring girls into their womanhood and to plough his seed where he finds a ripe furrow.  His nobles claim divine right, for Gilgamesh does not speak against them.”

“And they do nothing?” Enkidu asked softly.

“A man came through our camp,” said Kuri.  “He was tall, bronze of skin with eyes like the river-water.  His voice was like the swell of water over the rocks and he said to ask for a Priestess of the Temple to bring the man-of-the-mountains out of the wilderness.  This man, he said, would tell us how to live in balance with the wild beasts, would help us so we could breed our herds.”

“His presence was like the white waters of the great river, raging and sun-bright,” said Ubarr, whose presence sparkled faintly, like flying embers.  “Like yours, but wilder.”

The other two stared at Ubarr with tiny frowns, eyes questioning.

“Enkidu is like the great river, where it seems still and unmoving – the water is deep and fools the eye.”

“Well,” said Nutesh thoughtfully.  “He certainly _goes_ deep.”

_“Nutesh!”_ shrieked Kuri, causing the gazelle on the other side of the oasis to startle and run off. “I did not need to know that!”

Ubarr snorted. “Nutesh, you can barely walk when Enkidu is done with you, so that’s hardly a surprise.”

“It keeps me smiling for days, though.”

“Yes,” agreed Kuri, still flushed in embarrassment.  “Enough that you step in rabbit holes and trip over snares.”

“It was just the _one time!”_ Nutesh plucked a handful of grass from the earth and threw it at Kuri.  A moment later the two young men began wrestling in the golden firelight.

Enkidu rolled his eyes as Ubarr laughed.

“So you think it was one of your gods that sent Shamhat to me?”

Ubarr shrugged.

“I think that Enki, lord of the river came to us and heard our pleas.  I think he has been in Uruk, listening to the city groan under the weight of the King’s expectation.”  Enkidu watched Ubarr’s eyes fell upon his companions, Nutesh pinning Kuri, hot-eyed and fierce from the combat.  Ubarr said nothing as the youths fell into a heated kiss, Kuri’s legs spread wide around Nutesh as they rutted frantically together.  When his eyes flashed back to Enkidu’s they were bright with humor and sorrow. “I think that Enki, lord of the river has been to your watering hole and felt your presence; the depth of your long sorrow.  You are much more than you appear, Enkidu-of-the-mountain.”

Enkidu shrugged as Kuri sighed his completion and Nutesh pulled a flask of oil from the belt he’d tossed aside.  Ubarr laughed softly as the wet slide and soft grunts of fucking filled the air, Nutesh pinning Kuri’s wrists with one hand and jerking the youth’s spent cock with the other.  The oiled hand glistened in the firelight, its rhythmic glide around the sensitive prick oddly mesmerizing as Nutesh’s thrusts rocked Kuri’s hips.

“That’s new,” Ubarr noted.  “His stamina’s improved.  He usually spills right after getting in.”

“Ubarr,” Nutesh grunted hips stuttering before resuming their rhythm.

“He got that from me,” said Enkidu, watching Kuri’s flush and pleasured face.  “I’ve been making him practice, albeit from the other side.  It’s nice to see that others are benefitting from it.”

_“Enkidu!”_

Kuri’s soft cry caused Enkidu to hide a smile behind a hand.

“Don’t fuck in public if you don’t expect critique,” said Ubarr, turning his back on them.  “Honestly.”

“Or if you don’t expect others to masturbate,” added Enkidu, although he kept his own hand away from his nascent erection.  The two were a beautiful sight; lithe, limber and athletic.  Nutesh bent down to take Kuri’s mouth, thrusts speeding and stuttering as the smaller youth began to writhe, keening softly in the depths of his throat.  Kuri spilled, fertile water striping both bellies white and Nutesh shuddered, locked deep within his companion as he crested.

“Well done,” said Ubarr, not bothering to turn around.  “Now that you’ve scared away all the game in leagues, what will you do for an encore?”

“Clean up a bit,” said Nutesh cheerfully, pulling away from his partner. “Maybe offer a mouth or hand, if you’ve need.”

Kuri groaned, sitting up.  “You’re impossible.”

“You could be more grateful,” said Nutesh.  “You spilled twice tonight.”

“You’re just saving some for him,” retorted Kuri, pointing at Enkidu before flopping back down onto the grass.  “Which is just as well, insatiable one, since I’m done in.”

“Go cleanse yourselves,” Enkidu said, waving them toward the water.  “If Nutesh is very, very good, I might consider showing Kuri how it’s supposed to be done.  Then they can practice if I’m not around.”

Ubarr turned his face to the sky with a look of such utter despair that Enkidu laughed.

 

 

The problem with hunting other predators, Enkidu found himself thinking as he awoke at the bottom of a small cliff, is that if you’re not careful, they may begin hunting you.  The problem with hunting a pride of lions isn’t the great, shaggy-maned beast that ruled  the savannah.

No.  _He_ , as powerful and dangerous as he was, wasn’t the issue at all.

The problem was  the harem on lionesses who invariably sought prey to bring him, who protecedt their cubs with fierce and implacable will.  Lionesses were cooperative hunters; clever, cunning and above all, ruthless.

The last thing Enkidu could remember was tracking the smallish pride, seeking the place the animals currently denned.  After that first, memorable night near the watering hole, they had settled down to their business, scouting further and further afield, seeking the pride they knew hunted in the range.

They had travelled over a day and had made camp near a hidden seep, where a trickle of water came to the surface, barely deep enough to feed a water skin.  They would scout for a couple of days and then return to the watering hole to replenish their water and their supplies from the cache the clan hid beneath the scrub trees that grew in a stunted clump near the spring.

Half a day out upon the rolling plains, the grass tall and green still from the spring rains, and they were getting ready to turn back toward the camp when Ubarr had shouted, high and panicked, accompanied by a rumbling growl. Enkidu, scouting ahead of the others, had spun, taking a stumbling step backwards, only to find air as a gaping wound in the earth swallowed him whole.

Enkidu sat up slowly, rolling his neck back and forth to work out the kinks that come from healing a broken neck or shattered spine.  He counted himself lucky, as his bow and small supply of throwing spears seems to have made it intact to the bottom of the small ravine that had been hidden by the tall grass.  A squint up at the sky told him that at least a day had passed, perhaps more – there was no way to tell, as it was now early morning compared the afternoon when he fell.

In silence he picked up his bow and his spears and considered the odd little hollow he had fallen into.  Climbing out posed little difficulty.  There were hand-holds enough for him and a broadening pool of sunlight to the west hinted at a possible foot-access out.  To the east there was  the faint drip of water inside the shadowed shelter of earth.

He moved inward toward the sound of the water, finding nothing but a low, clear pool of mineral scented water.  He dipped a finger into it, testing a drop upon his tongue, only to find it sweet with the faintest tang of earth and stone.  It was surprising nothing had come to den here, but Enkidu was no fool.  He gave thanks to the great Mother of All for his good fortune, and headed toward the light.

 

The chamber beyond where he had fallen had a wider aperture and was littered with animal bones.  The ceiling was too far for most beasts to jump, but a small scree pile made the climb more than feasible for a human.  A grim smile graced his mouth as he considered his options.  A day or more had passed and at best his companions had scattered, saving themselves from their cunning prey.  They might have successfully killed one or more of the big cats, or even all of them.  Had they seen his body at the bottom of the ravine they would have assumed – and quite correctly – that he was dead.

Ever since his youth, long ago, before the floodwaters that had burst down from the upper sea, before the great rains that had shrouded the world in mist and lightning, when the ice to the north could be seen in the far distance, he had been a youth climbing the rocks of the mountains that had been his home.  He had grown old enough to share a fire and plant his seed, to see the woman who had chosen him grow round with child, and welcome it to the world with a glad heart.

He thought little of the accident that had likely been his first death – like this, it had been a fall and a broken neck, where he had awakened stiff and sore a day or more later, and returned empty handed to his clan, teased for his lack of luck at the kill.  He had lived and loved, but failed in his duty.

His seed never again sprouted, nor the woman who had chosen him grown full-bellied with child.  He had understood when he had been sent from her fire, to share with the younger men who spent eager nights beside the fire, but were not asked to spend their seed when it would find fertile ground.  They were young and rambunctious and not yet ready for the responsibility of a hearth with a child.

Time passed and he remained the same as he had been that fateful day he fell from the mountainside.  Every wound healed, illness never sought him.  He watched the woman who had chosen him grow old and pass into time, followed by his daughter and her children, and her children’s children as time flowed steadily around him and away.  He had loved them, with all of the fierceness of his raging heart, and he watched them wither and die.

As he climbed out of the cave, Enkidu found himself hoping that his companions had merely thought him dead.  What it might do to his reputation among the hunter’s clan mattered little, but the thought that they had not lived left him heartsore and anxious.

It did not take long for his hope to be shattered.

He found Ubarr’s body by the reek of voided bowels and the stench of sunbaked intestine.  Not far from him was the corpse of one of the lionesses, a spear shoved deep within her throat, piercing the great vein of the neck.  Enkidu’s gaze swept around, finding only evidence of fight and failure.  One of Kuri’s spears lay broken in the grass and Nutesh’s bow lay splintered on the ground.

All the color faded from the world, all but the pinpricks of rusty blood and clotted viscera as he tracked the trail back to where the lions denned.  He could see that the pride had feasted well, with only so much meat and shattered bone remaining of the laughing youths he had lain with, glutted upon life and the sex joy. Rage filled him with a deep and terrible calm as he watched bloody-muzzled cubs fighting over bits of sinew and gristle.

His first arrow took a lioness through the eye, the second through the throat, and he remembered little after the third punched straight through the pride-King’s head.

Awareness returned in chaotic waves – pain from being mauled but not dying, breaking the neck of cub after cub, making sure that none were left behind to grow strong and return to threaten the hunting clan and take more, finding Nutesh’s skinning knife and butchering the dead pride, taking the skins with delicate concentration.

When he came fully to himself, Enkidu was burdened with the heavy pelts, blood-drenched and fly-bitten as he stood by Ubarr’s body.  Strange flickers of blue light raced over Ubarr’s open wounds, and even now Enkidu could see that the wounds were healing slowly.

That strange presence, the flickering awareness that had crackled softly and flickered like embers on the breeze, buzzed just beneath Ubarr’s skin.  He did not yet breathe, but the strange magic that kept Enkidu alive raced to repair him.

Enkidu shuddered as the knowledge crashed into his mind.  Ubarr would live, death ever and always beyond his reach.  He would never age or father children, he would be part of and forever separated from his kin.  Enkidu did not know whether he should laugh or grieve, so he did neither, dropping his pelts upon the ground so he could pick Ubarr up and carry him over to the cave.  Getting the man in without doing further damage was difficult, but Enkidu managed.  He then retrieved the pelts he had taken as prizes and proof that the goal had been achieved.

He took Ubarr to the small chamber with the water, taking a seat next to the faintly burbling spring. Slow handfuls of water were collected as the water overflowed its small basin and ran in tiny trails back into the earth.  A handful of dampened sand scrubbed away some of the blood and viscera as Enkidu carefully avoided fouling the spring while he cleansed himself of the day’s work.

“I was never so careless by myself,” Enkidu told Ubarr’s body, which had begun breathing again as the rended skin of his belly finally knitted together.  “I did not think that bringing others along would so increase the danger.  What a fool I am.”

“I don’t think you’re so bad as that,” Ubarr wheezed out.  “Although I’m not sure what happened.  There was a lioness and she ripped me apart.”

“Well, you shoved a javelin through her throat, so I’d say you had your fair revenge.”

Ubarr groaned and sat up, running a hand across his unblemished belly.

“I remember being mauled,” said Ubarr.

“That’s because you were.” Enkidu closed his eyes and leaned back against cool stone.  “Congratulations.  You need no longer fear death, since it’s a bit like taking a nap in a very uncomfortable position.”

“That is not especially funny, Enkidu.”

Enkidu opened his eyes and met Ubarr’s gaze.

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

 

Enkidu told Ubarr what little he knew of being one who did not remain dead.  He told him of the benefits and the curses that went with it.  For the most part Ubarr seemed resigned to it as they made their way back to the hunter’s encampment.

“There’s no way that we can die?”

“Well,” said Enkidu.  “I’ve never tried having my head cut off.  For all I know, it would grow back.”

Ubarr laughed a little at this as they headed into the camp, met by children exclaiming over the rough-treated hides.

“You did it! You did it!” the urchins shrieked, running back toward the center of camp.

“There will be a celebration,” Ubarr muttered. “I don’t want one.”

“Neither do I.” The full council of elders waited for them just beyond the edge of the tents.  Enkidu dropped his burden at Balathu’s feet, meeting the elder’s eyes with a weary gaze.  “We are all that return, Elder, but our hunters fought bravely, and the foe is vanquished beyond doubt.”

Balathu’s eyes closed in pain, but he nodded.  “Come, we will mourn our dead tomorrow, but for tonight you are heroes!  A trader has come from Uruk-of-the-sheepfold, and has brought us supplies and beer.  It shall be a feast fit even for Gilgamesh the builder!”

Enkidu exchanged glances with Ubarr and then nodded resigned.

“Let us feast and celebrate life,” he said.  “But there is something that I must ask you.”

“And what is that?”

“What is _beer_?”


	4. Tablet 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grief, guilt and immortality. A lifelong love affair with beer is begun.
> 
> In which survival is beautiful, strength is amazing, and the developing misogyny of humanity is confusing, but fucking is not.

_Beer_ , Enkidu decided as he drank from a flask Ubarr provided, was truly a gift from the gods, whomever they may be.  He weaved his way drunkenly toward his tent, avoiding the gazes of gleeful women and jovial men, knowing that among the revelers were those who had lost more than the encampment had gained.  He sewed a smile to his lips and stared into the distance, heart-struck and hollow-eyed, seeking only a moment’s rest before the feasting could begin.

He stepped into the shaded light of his tent, scenting fragrant oil in the polished stone lamps he had carved long, long ago.  Graceful Shamhat knelt beside his rough-hewn bench, her brightly colored shawls girdled with wide, soft leather.  Pale eyes gleamed, gentle care star-bright in their depths.  Soft hands held a tall clay ewer brim-full steaming, sweet-scented water, and a shallow basin of white stone sat before her, adorned with lengths of dark cloth.

“Come and sit,” she said, pouring a measure of the clear water into a shallow basin beside her.  “Sit, Enkidu-of-the-mountain, and let me cleanse you of your sorrow.”

Enkidu sat, heartsick and weary, swallowing the last of Ubarr’s gifted libation.

“There is not enough water in all the world, sweet Shamhat, to wash away the stains of my griefs,” said Enkidu, shame-faced at his drunken confession, the truth-speech that came with the lightness of the world.

Shamhat said nothing, merely lifting a foot into her lap and washing it with warm, sweet-scented water.  Words tumbled from Enkidu’s mouth, a low-voiced keen that rose and fell as the sounds of celebration increased around them.  Grit and grime fell away from his skin under her ministering hands as he told her of loss unending, of seeking solitude and wilderness when the pain had grown too great to bear.

Gentle hands poured water over his scalp, scrubbing away remaining blood and viscera, as he told her how hard it was to walk among the living after spending so long with the memory of the dead.  It had been a surprise to meet her and see the living and not a walking corpse, to take pleasure in the life beneath her skin, instead of pain knowing how soon it would end.

Fragrant oil was rubbed into his skin, knowing hands firmly caressing as he spoke of Nutesh’s boldness and Kuri’s shyness, of taking both to his bedroll and wringing such pleasure from their youthful flesh that their blissful cries had echoed to the watching stars.  Their life and fire had been too much to resist and now it was gone, and they were just so much gristle and bone in the mouths of lions.

There were no tears, for Enkidu had wept his fill long ago.  Yet Shamhat wept for him, crystal tears dropping to his gleaming flesh as her hands massaged and stroked, taking his grief-pain and offering it up to the gods in silent supplication.  Slowly his words flowed to an end, leaving him rough-voiced and hollow.  Clever-handed Shamhat caressed him, intimate and knowing, yet he stilled her fingers, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing gently.

“I would like to take you down upon the leathers and simply hold you,” said Enkidu, brushing away her tears.  “Skin against skin, warm and comfortable.”

Shamhat rose up and placed her lips upon his forehead, as though he were a child.  In hallowed silence, she removed her wide belt and colorful shawls, laying herself down upon the leathers of his bed and reaching out to him with welcoming hands.

“Come and rest against me, Enkidu-of-the-mountain, and I will give you shelter.”

“Thank you,” he said, allowing her to pull him in, and she smiled up at him, curling into his shoulder as his arm wrapped around his waist.  He buried his nose in the soft mass of her hair and closed his eyes.

 

When Enkidu woke it was to the sounds of continuing celebration.  Shamhat’s fingers trailed through his hair, and she sighed as he moved, empty and restless against her.

“The feast will begin soon,” she said softly.  “They will want their hero.”

“Yes,” said Enkidu, indifferent to the revelers outside, his hands running softly down Shamhat’s sides. “But there is time enough, I think, to feel the life within you.”

Shamhat raised a brow as his fingers slipped between her thighs, teasing lightly. Her legs parted and she arched into his touch.  “It is my pleasure, if that is what you wish.”

Enkidu slipped his way down her body, leaving a trail of kisses down her belly, before resting his head upon her thigh.

“All I see is death. You walk around me, like lightning echoes, insubstantial ghosts playing at life.” he whispered into her skin, the hollow space behind his grief sharp-edged and aching.  “I do not know what to do.  I want to look at you and see life.  I want to walk among you and see the living, not the dying.”

Shamhat lifted one hand to a jeweled breast and set the other to part the lips of her cunt, revealing her wet and waiting beauty.

“Give me your mouth, Enkidu-of-the-mountain,” she said, fingers rubbing lightly at her clit.  “Give me your mouth and your cock, and you will know my strength and my fire. Call forth my pleasure and plough your seed within my furrow.  Bring me the fertility of your waters and know my life, not my death.”

Enkidu shuddered and lay his mouth against her, drawing forth the wetness of her bliss and letting the warmth of her fire fill the hollowness inside of him.

 

They joined the feast, loose-limbed and heavy-eyed, brimming over with life and reeking of the sex-joy.  Shamhat walked bare-breasted, as many of the women did, her wide, supple belt kilting her bright shawls loosely around her thighs. Oiled skin gleamed in torch-and-firelight, and Enkidu felt an odd possessiveness, knowing she was still wet with his seed as she made her way through the crowd.  He could almost understand how the hunters and dwellers of Uruk-of-the-sheepfold would want to claim possession of such a woman, who felt her power and knew her worth, yet it gave him joy to see her place a hand upon a youth’s shoulder and take his mouth for the sheer pleasure of the joining.

They reached the hunter’s clearing, where the food had been set out, where the drums and flutes played in sweet elation, and the people danced in drunken revelry.

“All hail the Lion-hunter!” cried Ubarr, red-faced with drink and holding up a fat-bellied skin of beer.  His wife, Kullaa, sat on his knee, love-bites adorning her neck like a torc and their children played in the grass beside them.  She rose when she saw Enkidu, running toward him, fleet-footed.  She caught him around the neck with her arms and waist with his legs, and kissed him with frank intent.

“Thank you,” she whispered against his ear, beer and musk heavy upon her breath. “Thank you for bringing him back to me, when you could not bring the others.”

Shamhat laughed lowly beside them as Enkidu’s hands went to support Kullaa’s slight weight.

“I could not spare them,” said Enkidu, grief-pain striking, but not as hard as it had before.

“We know,” said Kullaa, who was Kuri’s sister Enkidu remembered.  “But we are grateful for who you brought back, Enkidu-of-the-mountain, and glad of the revenge you exacted.”

She kissed him again, open-mouthed, with beer and Ubarr’s seed upon her tongue.  He carried her back to the man who shared her fire, enjoying the feel of her milk-ripened breasts against him.

“You seem to have misplaced something,” he told her as Ubarr’s work-roughened hands took her waist.

She laughed, tears falling without shame or fear, and she let him go, allowing Ubarr to lift her high before setting her back upon his knee.

“If he was lost, Enkidu-of-the-mountain, he is well found now.”

“So shall I remain,” said Ubarr, catching Enkidu’s eye.  “For so long as you will have me, sweet Kullaa, I will share your hearth fire.”

“For so long as I will have you?” asked Kullaa.  “As well ask to part the mountains from the sky, as say Kullaa without Ubarr!  It would be an easier task to pull the stars from the sky than to pry me from your tent.”

Ubarr laughed.  “I would never have you leave, but among Enkidu’s people, women have the right to choose the man who shares their hearth –”

“Or men,” said Enkidu, causing Kullaa’s eyes to widen comically.

“—or men,” said Ubarr, swallowing hard.  “I chose you because you were always kind to me, even when I was clumsy, or foolish, or just plain wrongheaded.  Your father chose me because I had made my first hunt, with great honors.  I never asked you if you wanted me and you were afraid when you came to my tent.”

“Ubarr,” Kullaa’s hands twined in his hair.  “It was so long ago.  I don’t know what I would have chosen then, but I would always choose you now.”

“And I will always choose you,” said Ubarr.

Their oldest child, a boy of perhaps ten, gagged audibly, causing all of the adults to laugh.

“I would not invite another man to our fire, Ubarr.  What in the world would I do with two – or more – of you?”

Ubarr glanced up at Enkidu and Enkidu laughed.  Kullaa turned her head and narrowed her eyes consideringly.

“You do make Shamhat of the Temple sigh and moan,” said Kullaa.

“Oh, he does,” agreed Shamhat, brushing a hand low against her belly.  “And he’s hung like the king of oxen.”

Kullaa’s eyes nearly crossed as she stared down at the linen kilted around Enkidu’s waist.  Ubarr laughed into her shoulder as Kullaa slowly shook her head.

“Were I to take him, I might not be satisfied with Ubarr, who is only as large as a stallion.”

“What did you say, woman?”

“Well, you were out on the plains together for many days, surely you know which of you is most gifted!”  Kullaa straddled her husband as he spluttered and Enkidu and Shamhat walked away toward the food.

“Hung like the king of oxen?” asked Enkidu, amused.  “As a proclamation of the priestess of the temple, it should only take moments for that rumor to spread.”

“Let it,” said Shamhat, lifting his hand and pressing a kiss into it.  “Many will approach you, this night, hoping you will lie with them.”

“Will they?” He could see a knot of girls, each glancing his way and then flushing dark.  “How can it be so, when they have not been invited to men’s tents, to be made into women and into men’s wives?”

Enkidu could not quite hide his distaste, for a person always belonged to him or herself.  Even when he had been asked to share a hearth and plow his seed within his hearthmate’s furrow, he had been free to share pleasure with any who asked.  His hearthmate had not been limited to him, and indeed they had often shared pleasure with others.  How a man could claim ownership of a woman was something he could not understand.

“Because there are a few who would change it.” Shamhat nodded to a young woman who stood beside one of the braziers, bare-breasted with earthen hair streaked with sunlight.  A many-colored shawl was kilted about her waist by a wide, soft belt of brilliantly dyed leather, and copper adornments glinted upon her ears and carmine-rouged nipples.  “That is Ia, fiberspinner. Her thread is as fine as a spider’s web and just as strong, and so much demanded in the city.  Her tent is her own and she needs no hunter or craftsman to provide for her.  Many men here would claim her if she did not refuse every offer.”

Enkidu hummed, collecting a plate of richly scented stew and dark bread.  A generous skin of nut-brown beer was pressed into his hands and he nodded his thanks.  They moved to an open spot near the musicians, shoulder to shoulder as they ate.

“Ia might ask one of the boys,” said Shamhat, taking a drink from over-full skin of beer.  “But I doubt it.  It is a strange standard they hold.  She cannot fully be considered a woman until her furrow is opened, but she cannot openly seek to be ploughed unless she is considered a woman.  If she had inherited her tent from her man, none would question her right to her pleasure, or criticize should she become round with child.”

“Is it not like that in Uruk-of-the-sheepfold?”

Shamhat hesitated.

“It is… different,” she allowed.  “Among the lower classes men and women may well seek pleasure with one another, though it is frowned upon if a woman bears children without a partner.  Permanent alliance through marriage is known, but it is not necessarily expected that a woman be untouched.”

“And in the upper classes?” asked Enkidu softly.

Shamhat stared at her plate.  “The shield their girls from men, although the boys may roam as they will so long as they choose partners from the Temple or from the lower classes.  They claim it a virtue that their daughters remain untouched by the sex-joy, ensuring they will not quicken for any but their husbands.”  Her voice lowered, becoming bitter. “They come to the temple with hot and greedy hands, bringing great offerings of food and coin and linen, but they look at us in disgust even as they use us.”

“And your goddess allows this?”

“Why do you push?” she asked quietly.  “It is the life I have.”

“Shamhat,” Enkidu pulled her close.  “I am sorry.  I do not seek to bring you pain, but I want to understand.”

“You have heard about the king,” she said.  “I do not know all of it, as I have never tended the marriage-place, or the place of consummation, but for to ready the altars for use.  But it is true that he will place himself between a man and his new wife, claiming the right to make of her a woman.”

“It is a vile thing that he does,” said Enkidu.

“Is it any more terrible than when these men decide which tent their daughters will go to?” asked Shamhat.  “Each girl in Uruk goes to her wedding knowing that the king may be there, waiting to open them.  Some go gladly and with great joy, for storm-eyed Gilgamesh, at least, will make an effort to make them cry out to Ishtar in their pleasure.  Their husbands may not be so generous in their fucking.”

Enkidu was silent, lifting the flask of beer to his lips and drinking deeply.

“It is still unjust.”

“Yes,” said Shamhat, rising.  “There is much that is unjust.  There are slave-pens and unwilling flesh sold upon the market square.  There is disease, and theft, and murder.  Yet Uruk is filled with beauty, too.  The mosaic of the great plaza, the great Temple and the palace.  There is art, and music, and poetry.”

She took the beer and looked upon the revelers.

“Come to Uruk, Enkidu-of-the-mountain,” said Shamhat of the Temple.  “Come and judge it for yourself.  But for me – I think I could use a little time, and you –” she laughed a little, “you could use the opportunity to change things, if even just a little.”

“Shamhat.”

She took a long drink, emptying the flask.

“Yes,” she said softly.  “Tonight I am Shamhat, and tonight I will choose for myself who I fuck or if I fuck or where I fuck.”

Enkidu watched her leave, feeling strangely shamed.

 

In the end it was not Ia who asked him to share pleasure for the evening but Arwia, one of the older girls, plain-faced and scarred by burns.  Life glowed within her and he felt himself stir at the heat of it.  She approached him after Shamhat left, asking if it was true that among his people a woman could simply just ask a man to share her fire, for a night or for a more extended period of time.

“It is true,” he allowed, “although my people are long gone, Arwia-of-the-plains, and our ways are not your ways.”

Arwia touched his hand, comfort warming her dark eyes.

“It is a good custom,” she said. “One I would like to share, but there are none here who would have me, even were I to beg them to share pleasure.”

Enkidu stared at her with startled eyes.

“How can that be?” asked Enkidu.  “You are very beautiful.”

Arwia flinched, curling into herself as though he had struck her.

“I am thickset and scarred and not at all lovely like Ia or Iltani, and none compare to graceful Shamhat.”

“All I see,” said Enkidu, gentle voice carrying through the field, “is your strength and your survival.  You live, Arwia-of-the-plains, despite great injury and great pain.  Your beauty shines in you, like a great light.  Only a fool would deny you, if you should ask.”

“Even you, the Lion-slayer?” she asked, unbelieving.

“Why not I?” Enkidu matched her disbelief with his own.  “Sweet Arwia, I would lay you here upon the grass and call forth your pleasure.  I would worship your great strength and your great beauty with my body, and let them envy that _I_ was the one allowed that joy.  I would open your furrow and spill my waters deep, that none would ever question that you are a woman.”

Silence echoed around them at his words, conversations stilling in unexpected shock.

Arwia stared at him, hand touching the scars on her face, and let forth crystal tears seeing his earnestness.

“Will you share pleasure with me, Enkidu-of-the-mountain, slayer of lions?” she asked, trembling in the ruddy light of the braziers.  He came before her and knelt, laying a kiss upon scarred lips before resting his forehead against hers.

“It is my honor,” he told her, cupping a breast through her sunset-dyed shawls.  “Do you wish to find a place less public?”

Arwia shook her head, setting red-brown curls dancing.  “Let them see and know that I am not a child, to be chained to my father’s hearth fire.  I have skill enough in metal and wood to make my way however I should like.  My children would know plenty, even without a man within my tent.”

Enkidu laughed and undid her wide belt, laying her shawls upon the grass and his kilted linens beside them.

“Then let us make here an altar to the great Mother,” he said.  “And to Ishtar the Beautiful.  Let us make an offering of our pleasure.”

Arwia lifted her hands to the heavens, eyes closing in silent prayer, before laying back upon her shawls, and beckoning in silent supplication.

Enkidu stilled her hand, bringing it to his cheek.

“You need no plea, sweet Arwia,” said Enkidu, laying gentle kisses along her scars.  “I am eager enough for ten tens of men.”

She sighed and turned her face from his gaze as Enkidu lay beside her.

“Do not doubt,” he whispered into her skin, exploring her body with gentle hands.  “When I am done, all will know how beautiful you are.  Even you.”

Enkidu worshipped her upon their makeshift altar, calling forth her pleasure and revealing her great beauty.  In the sacred space they created, amidst raucous drums and the sighs of the flutes, he showed her and all who looked upon them what _this_ woman was, and all that a man should be.


	5. Tablet 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mysticism, sex, and mystical sex. Life is hard in pre-history.

Enkidu and Arwia slept beneath the flame-bright stars and greeted the sun with an offering of joy.  Arwia plied him with sweet kisses before gathering up her sunset-dyed shawls, walking loose-limbed and potent toward her father’s tents. Enkidu watched her with a small smile as she moved, confident and powerful, clad in nothing but the sun’s golden light.

“How beautiful she is,” said Shamhat behind him.

“Indeed.” Enkidu swiveled, looking up.  “Are you well?”

Shamhat loomed above him for the moment, sex-wrecked and glorious as she smiled her secret smile.

“Well enough,” she said, dropping down to sit beside him.  “I asked Balathu if he would be willing to share pleasure with me in the way of your people, and he nearly fell from the bench on which he sat.”

“He was wise enough to say yes, I hope.”

“Hmmm.  Yes.”  She smiled wickedly.  “I saw Ia approach Libluth the elder, and ask him to share pleasure by her fire.  I thought the old man might surely die, so great was his surprise.  He has been without a woman in his tent for many years, and he has not approached me at all, though he must have some need.”

“Did he agree?”

“If the raptured cries I heard from his tent were any indication, Ia learned much of what it means to receive joy from a man.”  Shamhat leaned back, propping herself up on her elbows.  “The old man still has the strength and stamina of a bull.  I’ll be surprised if she can walk, so often did she cry out.”

“But does he have the size?” asked Enkidu, laying back to stare up at the sky, running a hand down his belly.

“Oaf,” said Shamhat.  “Proud of that extra leg you usually hide beneath your leathers?”

“Is there a reason I should not be?” asked Enkidu, putting his hands behind his head and tilting his hips to emphasize said limb. “I am told that it is well formed, long enough to plough deeply, thick enough to satisfy, and I know how to employ it to great effect.”

“Any longer and he could use the damn thing to walk,” said Balathu, approaching from the side.  “I would be jealous if I was not so well gifted myself.

Shamhat laughed as Enkidu lazily took hold of his abandoned linens and covered himself.

“Oh, don’t hide on my account.” Balathu’s eyes glinted wickedly.  “I’m more than willing to pay our debt to you by riding that cock.”

“Everyone wants a ride,” said Enkidu, sitting up.  “I have it on good authority.”

Shamhat shook with laughter, unsuccessfully muffling the sound behind her hand.

“This is probably true,” said Balathu.  “I don’t think there’s a girl in the clan who does not want you to open them.  Your care of Arwia has shaken many.”

Enkidu’s brow wrinkled.

“How so?”

“Arwia has spent much time being dismissed as too damaged and too unlovely to make a wife, despite the skills that she would bring to a man’s tent.  Yet you, a stranger, came and looked upon her and did not see her scars or her calluses.  My sisters spoke in awe of her beauty as she rose above you, a goddess in mortal flesh, opening herself upon the fullness of your cock.” Balathu shook his head, smiling softly. “They were also jealous of how often she crested and the skill of your hands and mouth.  They wish to send their husbands to Shamhat to learn how to correctly please them.”

Shamhat tumbled the small distance to the ground, laughing hard enough that there was no sound but the gasps as she tried to take in air.  Enkidu just raised a brow, smirking slightly.

“Shamhat is not the one who taught me,” said Enkidu.  “Although I believe she enjoys the benefits of my skills.”

“Alas,” rejoined Balathu, “my sisters will simply have to teach their husbands themselves.  Tragic.”

Enkidu snorted and Shamhat managed to sit up, still stifling giggles.

“You mentioned our wager,” said Shamhat.

“I did,” said Balathu, sobering.  “You have done us a great service, Enkidu, slayer-of-lions.”

Enkidu shrugged, lips tightening.  Shamhat’s hand touched his shoulder and he leaned into the comfort of it.  For a moment he could see the flicker of Nutesh’s ghost, challenging him to wrestle and boldly asking for what he wanted.

“I did not do enough.”

Balathu crouched down.  “Do you know why we allow hunters to take girls to their tents as soon as they make their first successful solo hunt?”

“So soon?” asked Enkidu, though he had seen several very young hunters amidst those who practiced in the field.

“It is in the hopes that they will father a child before they die.”  The words were brutal.  “What we do is not safe, Enkidu-of-the-mountain, it is why so many stand in such awe of you, that have hunted alone for so long.”

“I am just a man,” protested Enkidu.  “Long skilled and strong, yes, but not so special!  Had I been wise enough, those boys would have lived – we would have known that the lionesses had found us!”

“Do not blame yourself for the vagaries of the hunt!”  Balathu’s eyes were dark.  “If anyone was wrong, it was I, for sending Nutesh and Kuri out, for listening to their pleas.  They wanted to learn from you and I believed that you would succeed where others have long failed.  _I_ had the responsibility of sending some of our most experienced hunters and scouts with you, and I gave you fresh-faced boys who thought more of sex than they did of scouting!  I knew that they would be distracted, by you and one another, and I sent them anyway.”

“Stop,” said Shamhat.  “It is done and cannot be undone by blame or anger.  Still yourselves, both of you.  You dishonor the dead with your feelings.”

Balathu flinched, shamefaced.

“I remember them both,” said Shamhat.  “Young and beautiful and filled with life, burning brightly, like the hottest fire – like they knew how little time they had.  They spent their time in joy, do not dwell upon the sorrow.”

“You are wise, Shamhat of the Temple,” said Enkidu, affixing Nutesh’s laughing face within his memory, and Kuri’s shy-and-pleasured flush.  “It is life we should remember, not death.”

She smiled at him, pale eyes bright with compassion and sorrow.

“Yes,” said Balathu.  “We will honor them tonight, when the moon rises, with food and drink and stories.”

“Another feast?”

Balathu sighed.  “An offering of life against the loss of death.”

Enkidu nodded.

“Our merchant friend will remain for tonight, and has agreed to carry the goods we will send with you to Uruk.”

“You need not –” started Enkidu, but Balathu held up a hand.

“We keep our promises,” said Balathu.  “And we owe you a debt that cannot be repaid.  Your suggestions for dealing with the wild dogs have succeeded well, and we have taken pups that we will be able to train and breed.  You have cleared the threat of the lions, that we may breed herds and take only what game we need.  You are as great to us as the king, Gilgamesh the builder, Gilgamesh the storm-eyed, is to Uruk, and with far better reason.”

“I do not wish to beggar your camp.”

“You will not,” said Balathu.  “We are not so unwise as to do that.  Shamhat of the Temple has named us a reasonable reward for your service, and we have doubled its value, for it is a service beyond kenning.  The merchant is willing to take you with him unto Uruk, if you are willing to guard him and his wares.”

Enkidu considered it and nodded.  Shamhat rested her hand upon his shoulder and then lifted herself to her feet.

“If we are to leave on the morrow, I must see to several things today.”

Balathu looked at her, dark-eyed.  “We will keep your bed and your altar and your offering cup, priestess, for your use if ever you should return to us.”

Shamhat, blinked at him, confusion bright for a moment in her pale eyes.

“Is that not a waste of space and goods?”

Balathu shook his head.  “You will always be welcome here, graceful Shamhat, priestess of the Temple.”

She nodded to him and swept away, intent on her tasks.

“Know, too, that you will always be welcome among us, Enkidu-of-the-mountain.”  Balathu hesitated.  “What you have brought to us is good.  Women are more than vessels to bear our children and bring us pleasure.  We have songs and stories that remind us of this, and yet we allowed the people of brick-and-stone to tell us differently.  I am shamed I thought to reduce Shamhat’s glory to a mere commodity.”

“I’m not the one you should apologize to,” said Enkidu.  “I am the duty that you gave her, Balathu, yet when she is not with me, she _chooses_ to lie down with you.  Think on that.”

“I am not the only one who would be pleased if she were to stay, but she will not.”

“She is of the Temple.  Her life is not entirely her own to dictate.”

“It is more than that,” said Balathu.  “I do not believe she believes that she may choose anything but the assignments they give her.  It is not right.”

“No.  It is another injustice of her fair and beautiful Uruk.” Enkidu’s lips thinned.  “I will find a way to speak to the king and change this, if I can.”

“I wish you luck, Enkidu-of-the-mountain.”  Balathu nodded his head gravely and walked away, gathering his hunters to make the training field suitable for the evening’s solemnity and cheer.

Enkidu took the lions’ skins to the leather-workers and arranged for the skins to be prepared.  A cloak of golden lioness pelts would be made for Shamhat of the temple, and another of the great lion’s skin for himself.  He tried to give the remaining pelts to the leatherworkers in payment, but they would take nothing in trade.

“For what you have given to us, there is no price,” said Enusat.  “What goods we give you are little enough recompense.  I will bring these to you myself, when we are done.”

Enkidu wanted to protest, but bit back his objection, that he had cost Nutesh and Kuri their lives and it was wrong to receive such praise and wealth from it.

“My thanks,” said Enkidu, gripping Enusat’s arm in grateful camaraderie.  “I will be gladdened to see you.”

“And I, you.”

Knowing that they were to leave in the morning, he went to the women’s council, who governed all that is.  White-haired Erishti, Mother of mothers, knelt beside a cooking fire, preparing meat for roasting. Flame-eyed Zakiti, Nutesh’s fierce and sharp edged mother, knelt beside her, murmuring softly as she chopped young vegetables for the pot.  Arahunaa, clever-handed queen of the cook fires, directed all, men and women both, as they prepared for the night’s feasting.

Zakiti looked up, pain-dark and anguished, and motioned to him to approach.  Enkidu fell to his knees before her, pressing his face to the hard-packed earth.

“I am sorry,” he said, heart-struck by her suffering, guilt flaring brightly in his chest.  “I could not spare them.”

Work roughened hands touched him, scented with herbs and the oil of olives.  Gently they stroked his hair, well-worn kindness in each pass of fingers.

“Rise, Enkidu-of-the-mountains, Enkidu Lion-slayer, you owe me no obeisance,” said Zakiti, rough-voiced with grief.  “There is no guilt for you to take upon your strong shoulders, for what shame can there be in your survival?”

“I failed,” the words fought past his teeth, as he sat up.  “Your son died for my failures.”

“My son died because that is the way of the plains,” corrected Zakiti, dark-eyed and fierce.  “He wanted the hunt from the first time he held a bow, and the hunt brought him joy.  He could have had no better death than to be taken by that which he loved so well.”

“Truth, and more than truth,” said Erishti, Mother of mothers.  “You should know this, man-of-the-mountain.  You who have seen many pass, and will see untold more.”

Enkidu glanced sharply at white-haired Erishti, whose gaze was fixed upon her task.  Slowly she set her bright-metal knife aside, and raised eyes as deep as the world to meet his.  Enkidu trembled beneath her shrewd stare, sitting frozen as she approached, bloody handed, to grasp his face with gentle care.

“You are Our son,” she said, placing her lips upon his brow, “as all men are Our sons.  Husband, lover, defender, killer, builder, destroyer – these things you have been and these things you will be.”

Her mouth took his, wet and deep, the carnal sweep of her tongue setting his blood ablaze.

“You are Ours,” she whispered against his lips, low voice echoing the rush of far-distant waterfalls, “and will always be Ours.  We will love you until the stars gutter and we will never regret your survival, no matter the loss.”

Enkidu’s heart stuttered under the weight of her words, shivering as Arahunaa knelt beside him, deft-fingered hands unbinding his breechclout.  His hands rose to Erishti’s hips as she set herself upon him, impossibly wet and virgin-tight.  Zakiti’s hands stroked his shoulders, lips soft upon his nape.

“So long as you live, Our sons live,” she whispered in crackling flames against his ear, milk-ripened breasts warm against his back.  “If you would honor Them, honor those you have loved and will love, those you have killed and will kill, you must survive and remember.”

Erishti rolled above him, like the tide, flowing against him like the distant sea. Arahunaa’s cool hands caressed him, like a morning breeze plucking at his hair and chest.  Pebbled nipples caught the attention of nimble fingers and he keened under their ministrations.

“Your life is spun of boundless beginnings,” she murmured into his skin in the voice of wind whispering through ancient trees, “and unending endings.  You will carry the memory of Us, Me’tas, son of Aiune, child of distant mountains, when all others have forgotten, and bring Us safely home when all else is lost.”

Enkidu spilled, shuddering as Arahunaa’s words flowed over him, burying his seed deep within Erishti’s furrow.  Erishti cried out, cresting like the ocean-storm and claiming his mouth in their mutual pleasure.  Enkidu keened, taking her face between his hands and joining the violent dance of tongues, spilling again against all possibility.

“Remember,” whispered Erishti against his mouth, “that you are Ours.”

The eldest of the hunting camp pulled away, and Enkidu blinked, seeing the cook fire undisturbed. Zakiti poured careful measures of vegetables into wide clay pots with Arahunaa standing some measure of distance away, arguing with Libluth over supplies.  He could not scent the womens’ musk, nor feel evidence of his spend or Erishti’s joy upon his thighs.

He stared into the unfathomable depths of the old woman’s eyes, finding only shadows and unknowable light.

“I will remember,” he said as she pulled her bloodied hands away, and knew that his face and form were as clean as if he had bathed in a heated pool.  “Tomorrow I must go to Uruk-of-the-Sheepfold, whose walls rise high above the valley floor.”

“We know,” said Zakiti.  “We are sending many beasts of burden with you, laden with the greatest goods that we can provide.”

“I thought the merchant would be transporting your gifts.”

Arahunaa laughed behind her hand as she approached.

“So did Balathu, and more fool he.” The youngest of the women’s council knelt beside the cook fire and examined the pots with a discerning eye.  “We will send a portion of our usual trade goods, with our own hagglers and guards, to ensure that you and Shamhat-of-the-Temple arrive with all that you should.  Ea-nasir, the merchant, is displeased, for he thought that only you and Shamhat would be accompanying him.”

Enkidu narrowed his eyes. “Is it not safer to travel in such a group?”

“He fears that he will not get to take his pleasure from a temple-priestess each night,” said Arahunna, eyes narrow and disapproving. “Puabi is much taken with his young brother Rihat, in Uruk-of-the-sheepfold, for he is well formed and has much wealth for his home, but they seek to own and trade, as merchants do, and I am troubled.”

“I see,” said Enkidu. “Would you like for me to speak to this Rihat-of-the-marketplaces?”

“If you can,” said Arahunna.  “I would not deny my sister her choice, but I neither would I give her unto men who might use her ill or trade her daughters for goods or influence, not without fair warning.  I fear Uruk-of-the-wide-marketplaces, Uruk-of-the-Sheepfold, whose walls rise high above the valley floor.  We hear ill tales and it does not sit well with us.”

“No,” said Erishti.  “We would keep Shamhat-of-the-Temple here, where she brings joy and inspiration, if she would stay. Uruk is a place of ill omen for her.”

“Guard her,” said Zakiti, “for her worth is greater than all the grain in Uruk.  Help her gain what she will need to survive.  The great Temple is no place for her fire, Enkidu-of-the-mountain.”

Enkidu nodded and rose, thanking them for their wisdom and their kindness.

His goods he packed, taking them to the beasts of burden, adding them to the wealth of goods the hunters heaped upon him. His tent he offered to Balathu for use – there were no tents in the city of high walls, and he had no use for it.

“We will keep it for you,” said Balathu.  “So that you will have a place if you return.”

“You need not keep it unused.”

“We will find a use for it, never fear.” Balathu studied Enkidu, dark eyed and serious.  “What will you do when you enter Uruk-of-the-sheepfold?”

“I do not know,” said Enkidu.  “Shamhat has said that I will be welcome there, for my strength and my presence, but I do not know to what use my skills can be put.”

“They have men among them who guard the city.  Indeed, the King is known to order well-looking boys and healthy young men to report to the guard-of-the-city and into the service of his army.”

Enkidu’s brow wrinkled.  “What is an _army_?”

“Men who are trained with axe and sword, to fight other men in the defense of the city and of her hands.” Balathu raised his hands in mute wonder.  “It is said that there are those who have attacked the city in the past, causing great loss and grief.”

Enkidu considered it.  “Do they train the guard-of-the-city in this way as well?”

“So I have heard,” said Balathu. “You would be wise to consider it, if for no other reason than learning such skills.”

“Your words are wise, Balathu of the plains.”

“Of course they are wise, I am a great font of it.”

“Ass.”

“Donkey.”

Both men laughed.

“Will you take care of Shamhat?” Balathu looked away.  “I know that she cannot stay.  Indeed, I know that she is well able to care for herself.  But…”

“She is a treasure,” said Enkidu.  “And we love her.”

Balathu flushed.

“I have not taken a woman to my tent since I was widowed, and Shamhat I cannot have.”

“No,” said Enkidu.  “Although I do not think that one ever has a woman, or can have her.  They are not possessions.”

“But they can have us?”

Enkidu frowned, never having considered it quite that way before.  It was not quite the same, but it could be argued that his hearthmate had claimed him in much the same way that these men claimed ownership of women, and that did not seem quite right.

He shook his head slowly.  “I do not think so.  It is not fair to expect only women to ask a partner to share their fire, or to require men to ask one to share their tent.  It should be mutual, if there is claiming to be done.”

Balathu smiled, soft and warm.  “Yes, I think you are right.  You have much wisdom, Enkidu.”

“I am just a man,” said Enkidu. “Who has found he likes beer and now remembers what it is to be powerless before a woman’s strength.”

“You are no more just a man than Shamhat is just a woman,” Balathu told him.  “But I see that you will not be convinced.  Come, train with us until the feast.

Enkidu nodded, content to head out to the field.

“Perhaps you would like to wrestle? I have heard that you have much improved.”

Enkidu laughed.  “Do you want to be under me so badly?”

“I would not mind if you wished to share pleasure.” Balathu brushed against him as they walked.

Enkidu caught his hand tightly, pulling him into a rough embrace.  Balathu’s mouth opened, and Enkidu claimed it with ruthless power.

“Do you want me?” he asked, low and rough.  Balathu’s eyes darkened in sudden arousal, locking on Enkidu’s mouth.  Enkidu’s laughter echoed, rich with carnal intent.  “Come, then.  Let us skip practice and make all who hear us jealous.  I know of an empty tent.”


	6. Tablet 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journey ends, only to begin. It's time to leave, but not without gifts.

Enkidu and Balathu showed up at the life-celebration, sex mussed and swaggering.  Nutesh’s mother laughed, long and hard, saying it only just that her son’s first lover and his last arrive in such a state of disarray, kiss-and-cock-swollen lips declaring to all their afternoon pleasure than raptured cries.

“Who wouldn't want to share pleasure with me?” asked Balathu, wearing his arrogance like a cloak.

“If I remember it right,” called Kullaa, “you chased Nutesh until he caught you between his tell-toned thighs.”

“Lies!” cried Balathu. “Lies and slander!  He caught me with his mouth before I got anywhere near his thighs.”

The field filled with ribald laughter as good and drink were parceled out, tales of Kuri and Nutesh and their short, joy-filled lives.  Enkidu took a seat near the largest bonfire, well-content.  Shamhat sat next to him, leaning gently into his side.

“I'm sorry,” she said softly. “I should not have been so angry with you last night.”

Enkidu wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her in a loose embrace.

“It was wrong of me to push,” he said. “I am sorry that I caused you pain.  Yet I want to understand how these things can be, when your great ones come unto the Temple.  If I am to live there, I must understand how things are to be, even if I do not like them.”

“I know.” Shamhat smiled ruefully.  “I have come to love this place, these people. I am reluctant to leave. Yet I must, for I was bidden to bring you to Uruk, by royal decree.”

Enkidu placed a kiss upon her brow. “I could refuse to go.”

“The king bid me bring you, and he will know that I am here once the merchant comes into Uruk and goes into the Temple. It would not do to be taken to the King in a criminal’s chains.”

Enkidu hummed noncommittally, not really disagreeing.

“And so we leave in the morning,” she pulled away slightly and gave him a mock glare. “ _And_ you have deprived me of my last chance to share pleasure with Balathu.”

“I am not so inconsiderate as that! I did not wring him dry, just ensured that he will have the stamina of the plowing ox.” said Enkidu. “And even if I had been so cruel, his fingers and mouth are in working order, as you can see.”

He nodded to Balathu, whose hands danced sensually in the fire-lit air he described a prank of Nutesh’s, one that had resulted in half the hunters naked in a deep spring in the hills, while the rest searched frantically for their clothes.

Shamhat chuckled, low and sweet.

“Would it have been strange among your people that we share a man such as him?”

“It would,” said Enkidu. “I never thought to ask another man to share pleasure, and I know of none who did.  We served the pleasure of our women, their needs and wishes.”

“The women only?  No thought for your own?”  Shamhat’s mouth dropped open. “You never thought of it?”

“I do not know that men together would have been disapproved of,” Enkidu shrugged. “But I cannot say that any of us thought to share pleasure the way I learned here.  We focused on our women, our children, and the good of our clan.”

“I cannot imagine it,” said Shamhat. “Each woman with so much power.”

Balathu approached them, carrying a full-bellied skin of beer.

“Can you not, who have taught the people to cherish their pleasure and potency?” Enkidu asked, as the council elder came near. “Go on, I promise that I left him able to rut as long and hard as you might wish.”

“You are a great fool, not to have wrung him dry.” Shamhat told him, her warm fondness making his heart light.

“If so, I am still a well satisfied one,” said Enkidu, as Balathu came within earshot, “and in need of the drink my friend bears with him.”

Balathu laughed, tossing him the skin. Graceful Shamhat rose, walking over to the councils owner elder, rolling gait loose and overbrimming with sexual energy.  Her hand touched Balathu’s bare chest, stilling him as she rose up to take his mouth with sweet ferocity.  Balathu growled and arched her back, devouring as his lips trailed from her throat to her jeweled breast, and Shamhat cried out in startled pleasure.

Kullaa clapped her hands, letting loose a challenging cry as her applause was picked up amidst drunken catcalls and shouted advice.  The crowd roared its approval as Balathu pulled the priestess back up in a show of careless strength, Shamhat’s long legs twining around his slim hips.  None could hear the words he mouthed against her skin, but her low, rich laughter rolled through the field.

Enkidu took a long, slow drink from Balathu’s abandoned beer-skin, laughing at the disappointed groan as Balathu carried Shamhat toward his tent.

“She should stay,” said Ubarr, coming up behind him.  “I have not seen him so joyful since before Banunu died upon the child-bed, their daughter with her.”

“I know,” said Enkidu, passing Ubarr the beer.  “But it is not I that forces her to go to Uruk-of-the-sheepfold, but her own duty.”

Ubarr grunted, quaffing a generous portion of Enkidu’s offered libation.  The drums beat and the flutes called life into the passing wind.  Arwia danced in the firelight, bare breasted and confident, hips undulating in unabashed enticement.  Enkidu shared laughter with Ubarr as the handsomest of the camp’s hunters were rebuffed, yet Arwia accepted a kiss from one of the leatherworkers.

“That one will be dangerous,” said Ubarr.  “What have you let loose upon us?”

“Nothing that was not here before.  You are the ones who allowed Arwia to languish at her father’s tent, refusing her the rights of a woman because your men did not deem her worthy of their cocks.” Enkidu leaned back, resting on one arm. “As though ploughing a woman’s furrow open confers adulthood upon her, a gift from man to woman.  Had she been a man, her skill with wood and metal would have conferred that status on her long ago.  In their arrogance, those boys thought she would be grateful to let them rut on her, to take them to her fire and tent.  Let her find such boys lacking and take to her fire only those men who show proper respect. She has more than earned that right.”

“It is so,” conceded Ubarr, resting the beer-skin on the ground between them.  “Will you not stay?”

Enkidu sighed, falling back upon the grass.

“I would stay, but for Shamhat’s duty and my sworn intent to do something about the evils that spread within the high walls of Uruk-of-the-sheepfold.”  He plucked at the spring-soft blades that tickled his palm.  “It is not safe, not for any of us, while Uruk bleeds such vile ichor into the heart of the land.  I am no prophet, no chosen of the gods.  I am but a man.  But a man can do what river and stone, beast and sky cannot – I may choose to act.”

Ubarr shook his head.

“You say that you are just a man, but it is clear that it is not so.  You came to us, your presence like the storm-flood, rich with silt and fertile waters.  You bring change, Enkidu-of-the-mountain, Enkidu-lion-slayer.  You alter our landscape, sculpt each who spend time in your company, and lay down rich earth upon which we can grow.”

“I have done nothing –”

“Have you not?”  Ubarr’s voice gained strange harmonies as the flutes wailed in joyous ecstasy. “Even were you unchosen by the gods, you are potent and powerful, wise and untutored, and you sweep away all that lies before you.  Be wary of your gift, my friend.”

With that, Ubarr stood, leaving Enkidu to his beer and the warmth of the fire.

 

 

Shamhat came to his bedroll long past mid-of-night, reeking of musk and of heart-pain.

“He asked me to share his tent,” she said, tears falling as she curled into his arms.  “He would not ask that I change who I am, to tend his things and nurture his seed.  He said he cares not whose seed might sprout, for my children would come of me.  He said that I am more than Shamhat-of-the-Temple, that I deserve to be Shamhat-the-Woman.  I said, no.  I had to say _no._ ”

“Ah, Shamhat,” Enkidu whispered into her hair, laying a kiss upon her crown. “You are far more than a priestess of the temple.  Your presence is like the distant starlight, beautiful and beyond reach.  You make us better, make us strive to be worthy of your glittering regard.”

“I am but a temple priestess,” she whispered into his skin.

“You are a _woman_ ,” he said, shaking her lightly.  “You are not less because you serve your goddess, Ishtar the Beautiful.  You take no diminution from those with whom you share your body.  How can you think so?”

“They come to us,” she said.  “And call us _whore_.  They take their pleasure of our bodies and call us _slut,_ call us _cunt_ , call us _hole._   The joy is a glory unto Ishtar the Beautiful, and we give it in reward for offerings unto Her.  We are taught to call to them with our beauty, to call the pleasure from their flesh, to teach Ishtar’s joy to all who ask, but there are none who say, ‘There walks Shamhat, daughter of Alittum, who serves in the Temple’ – only ‘There walks Shamhat-of-the-Temple, whose furrow is tightest of all who serve.  Take a bushel of barley to the Temple and you can fuck her all night.’”

Enkidu tightened his arms around her.

“I did not realize,” said Shamhat, “what it meant to share pleasure and respect.  I did not know what it was to want beyond the gratification of flesh.  And then the king, Gilgamesh the builder, Gilgamesh storm-eyed, heard the petition of these hunters and sent me to bring you out of the wilderness.

“You changed me, in a few short days.  You scoured me clean of the filth left by their words, gifting me instead of just _taking._   And you brought me here, and by your very presence demanded their respect for who I am and what I do.

“And now we will return to Uruk-of-the-sheepfold, Uruk-of-the-wide-marketplaces, Uruk-the-beautiful, and I can see the ugly words in the eyes of our escort, I can feel the filth he wants to heap upon my skin.” Her breath hitched.  “And I see Balathu the Hunter, Balathu-of-the-plains, who placed his love and desire at my feet.  In duty I turned away from his offerings, things I desire beyond the joy of the flesh.  I turned away, so I might return to the Temple and be called _whore_ and _slut_ and _cunt_ and _hole._ I am sworn to bring you to Uruk, and I am sworn to Ishtar’s service.”

Enkidu lifted her hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing a kiss deep into her palm.  He let her feel the tears that ran silent upon his face.

“We will find a way to return you here,” he said softly, as her fingers brushed away the glittering trails upon his cheek.  “Surely there are ways to leave the temple.”

“Only two,” said she.  “Marriage and death.  But Ishtar does not grant leave for her priestesses to marry.  She claims that it is because none who have ever offered were worthy of the beauty of the Temple, but I think it is because we have no value to her if we have sworn our bodies to the use of just one man.”

They lay silent, Shamhat cradled in Enkidu’s arms.

“I do not think I like Ishtar-the-woman,” he said finally, low-voiced in the aching quiet.  “Ishtar-the-goddess, Ishtar-the-beautiful, _she_ is worthy of my veneration, for she is woman in all of her glory.”

“I do not understand,” said Shamhat.  “Ishtar is Ishtar, she has always been and will always be.”

“Ah,” he said.  “Perhaps.  Do not mind me, Shamhat.  It is late and we have far to go tomorrow.”

She wrapped an arm around him, murmuring gently into his skin before falling into restless slumber.  Enkidu remained wakeful, listening to the sleeping camp, not unaware of the shrewd eyes of Ea-nasir, that gleamed in the night-deep shadows.  He had little doubt that his words would reach the ears of Ishtar-the-Goddess, Ishtar-the-Beautiful, Ishtar-the- _woman_ , and worried at the wisdom of allowing it.

He pulled Shamhat more closely to him and waited for the dawn to come.

 

 

Morning came with a whisper of wind, cool and damp.  Upon the far hills clouds gathered tall, speaking of a coming storm.  Enkidu frowned as he watched them form, uneasy about their appearance – it seemed an ill omen.

Arahunna approached him, a rough basket of woven grasses in her hands.

“Here,” she said, handing it to him.  “For your travels.”

Inside there were lengths of spiced meat, rolled in herbed flatbread.

“You did not need to do this,” he said, a pleased smile quirking his lips.  “Though I am grateful for your kindness.”

Arahunna smiled, bright-eyed with mischief.

“No, nor is there need for me to do this.” Her hand slid up his chest and she pulled him down to her, parting his lips with a tongue flavored of spice and herbed water.  His head grew light as she moved against him, taking his breath and returning it to him with the whisper of distant cedars dancing in the wind.  She released him, swollen-mouthed and smiling, and her voice carried to his ears alone.  “Good hunting, Me’tas, child of distant mountains.  Do not fear the approaching storm.”

Enkidu watched her leave, wondering.  He turned toward the caravan, surprised to find Zakiti standing beside the beasts of burden, a new-wrought bow and javelins strapped to her back.  In her hands lay a bright-bladed axe unlike any he had ever seen before.  It shone blood-red in the light of dawn, wrought-metal gleaming in naked thirst.

“You are strong, Enkidu-of-the-mountain,” said Zakiti, hands steady as she held the weighted thing.  “And needs must be stronger still.  You have hunted and killed the great beasts of the field.  You have hunted and killed the great predators of the plains.  Now you will learn what it is to hunt and kill the great threats to us all – you will know what it is to hunt and kill men.”

She wrapped his shoulders in a harness of sturdy leather; his hips she girded with a belt wide and strong.  Upon his back she hung the axe and showed him how to draw it, the basics of its swing.  Upon his arm she slung the bow, its strong arms polished brighter than metal, and the quiver of bright-headed arrows.  The case of javelins she affixed to his waist, where he could use them at need.

Zakiti’s hand danced up his arm, resting against his neck as she pulled him down to her, tongue flickering between his lips like fire.  His head grew light as she burned against him, the fire of the grasslands tamed beneath her skin to the flame of the forge, the kiln and cook fire. “Good hunting, Me’tas, child of distant mountains.  Do not fear the coming storm or the flood that it brings.”

“Thank you,” said Enkidu, pressing their foreheads together in gentle communion.  “I will not forget.”

She gave him a feral smile and walked away, burning sharp and bright.

“And so it ends,” came Erishti’s voice from behind him.  She stood bare-breasted, the glory of her long life carved in every line and wrinkle of her age-worn skin Her dark eyes shone with mystery as she beckoned to him.  “And begins.”

Empty handed, her touch flowed up his chest as he bent to kiss her, parting her lips like water.  His head grew light as she surged against him like the sea, and he pulled her close, a caressing hand tracing the curve of her breast and the pebbling hardness of her nipples.

“May I?” he asked, slipping a hand beneath her shawls, and Erishti laughed, opening to his touch.  His fingers found her wet heat, sliding deep within as his palm rubbed against her clit.  She undulated against him, sure as the tide and cresting easily against his fingers. Enkidu pulled his hand away slowly, sliding wet fingers in circles around her clit as he gathered her wetness in his palm.  Erishti peaked again, breathless and beautiful, flooding his hand. Lifting it to his mouth, he drank the waters of her bliss, licking his fingers clean before taking her mouth again.

“Death comes, Enkidu-of-the-mountain, as it always does,” she whispered against his mouth before pulling away, bright eyed and exquisite in the morning light.  “Do not mourn overmuch, for it is the natural consequence of a mortal life.  Fear instead those who would make of life a misery, who would turn joy into grief, compassion into hate.  It is they you must set your snares for.

“Let all who see you, know who you are.” Her hands affixed a torc of golden leather around his throat, a lion’s head snarling between his collarbones.  “Good hunting, Me’tas, child of the distant mountains.  Do not fear the storm or the floodwaters that sweep all away before them.”

Erishti’s lips brushed his, carnal and chaste, vivid with life and crowned in glory and she walked away, hips rolling with blatant sexual potency. 

“Enkidu,” Shamhat’s amused voice called to him. “If you’re finished kissing each woman you meet, it is time to go.”

Enkidu laughed, light-souled and joyful, joining her beside a laden-down wagon.

“How can I be done?” he asked, pulling Shamhat-of-the-Temple to him. “I have not kissed you yet, graceful Shamhat.”

“True,” said Shamhat, turning her face up, laughing at him with her eyes.  “You have not.”

He laid his lips against hers, coaxing her mouth open with gentle licks and nips.  She sighed as she tasted Erishti on tongue, sucking lightly upon it before invading his mouth.  His head grew light as she drew his breath from his body, breaking away only to rest his forehead against hers.

“It is time to go,” he whispered.

“I know.”  Her eyes closed and she held him close.  “I don’t want to go.  But we cannot stay.”

“No,” agreed Enkidu, looking up and finding Balathu standing at the edge of the field, still in resignation and heart-grief.  He waved a hand at the council elder and watched the other man turn away, vanishing into the crowd of well-wishers before Shamhat could take sight of him.

“We will find a way to return here, Shamhat of the temple.  I swear this to you.”

“Oh, my friend, make no promises that you cannot hope to keep.  What Ishtar claims, Ishtar keeps, using whatever means she finds necessary. What is, is.” Her hand gripped his. “It is not so bad a life, Enkidu, nor without its joys.”

“Perhaps, but I would see you free.”

The caravan began to move as they stared into one another’s eyes. Shamhat shook her head and turned, taking the first step toward Uruk.  Her hand she held out with a wondering smile.

“Come with me, Enkidu-of the-mountain, to Uruk of the sheepfold, whose walls rise high above the valley floor. Come and see it for yourself.”

“I will,” said Enkidu, wrapping his fingers around hers. “I will.”


End file.
